Paradox
by VincentM
Summary: During 'Future Shock', Virgil went to the future. Richie stayed behind. This is the story from his point of view.
1. Chapter One

Paradox

Chapter One

By: VincentM

Richie liked his pillow.

Big nearly to the point of oversized, the baby-blue fabric almost coordinated with his semi-decorated bedroom. It was one of the few things he'd been allowed to bring with him when his family moved to Dakota from Idaho when he was ten years old. As a child, he'd lugged it around everywhere and most of his childhood photos had the pillow in them somewhere. He though he might even have given it a name once, long ago, but he couldn't remember it now. The pillow served many purposes beyond providing comfort for his head while he slept. Right now, he was taking advantage of one of its better uses.

He'd discovered, if he held it over his face and pushed down on it with his arms really, really hard, it almost drowned out the sound of his parents shouting at one another in the kitchen below.

Almost.

The urge to turn on his stereo at full blast grew more tempting by the second. He'd do it, too, except that he knew that would only bring the argument upstairs to him. He wasn't in the mood to get in the middle of any family disputes. The way they were going at it, Richie guessed a neighbor would call the police again, anyway. Then, things would get really ugly.

No, he was content to lie flat on his bed, listening through layers of cotton and batting to the occasional swear word and personal insult, punctuated now and then by a dish breaking against the linoleum. The pillow offered him the best protection he could manage at the moment, shielding him from the horrors of his family life that, more often than not, made him want to scream, yell, and break things as well. Normally, he'd just go hide out at Virgil's house, but since Virgil was still out of town, the pillow was just going to have to serve as his buffer.

As a result, he didn't hear Backpack's warning beeps. Nor did he hear his window sliding open or the soft footsteps on his carpet. He didn't see the figure standing over his bed, wasn't even remotely aware he wasn't alone, until a hand gently touched his own.

Richie let out a down right unmanly shriek, which was thankfully muffled to the point of inaudibility. He threw the pillow to the side, scrambling backwards on the bed in reflex, letting out a grunt as his head slammed against the wall behind him. When nothing came immediately into focus, he panicked momentarily before realizing his glasses lay across the room, out of reach on his desk. He blinked owlishly at the fuzzy figure before him, which let out a huff of annoyance at his antics.

"Chill, man! Jeez!" said the figure, taking a step closer.

Richie couldn't make out much in the way of distinguishing features of his home invader without his glasses, but he could tell he was wearing a cape and a mask. Since he'd yet to run into a Bang Baby that went to all that trouble to hide their appearance, he quickly deduced that this was an out-of-towner. He wasn't dead or being threatened with death at this point, so the odds looked good that this person did not intend to kill or maim him, either. Regardless, he still didn't feel exactly comfortable that a stranger stood in his room in the first place.

"Who are you?" he said, thankful that his voice sounded strong and sure, none of the fear and worry coming through.

The figure scoffed.

"Hello? Robin?" replied the boy, gesturing down at himself. "How many other super heroes dress like this?"

"Hello? Blind without my glasses," Richie said in irritation, crawling off his bed and still rubbing his aching skull. He crossed the room, grabbing his glasses off his desk and shoving them on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief as the room resolved itself into focus. It certainly looked like Robin. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"I did knock," Robin said, crossing his arms. "You didn't hear me."

"Knock louder next time," Richie said through gritted teeth.

What was Robin doing here? Shouldn't he be in Gotham City with Batman and Virgil? He'd seen them on the television earlier in the evening, celebratory news of the newest super villain's downfall a good opening story for every station. The only reason Richie could think of for Robin to come to Dakota was if he was giving Virgil a lift home, but that didn't explain why the Boy Wonder was in his room, alone.

A sinking sensation settled in Richie's stomach and that night's leftover pizza dinner suddenly didn't seem so good anymore.

"What happened?" he asked, instantly concerned.

"There was an accident," Robin said matter-of-factly. "We need you to come to Gotham."

"Is Static okay?" Richie didn't particularly like the expression on Robin's face.

"I don't know," said the other teen after a moment. "That's why we need to go now. Time may not be on our side."

Richie could feel a headache building behind his eyes. Cryptic speech concerning the well being of his best friend tended to do that. "Just tell me what happened now so I'll have time to think about it on the ride over."

"Hell if I know." Robin went back over to the window, sitting down on the ledge. "Timecode's machine activated and Static disappeared. It's possible that he might have... been sent to the future."

Robin said that last part quietly, looking uncomfortable, and Richie felt his eyes widening in shock behind his glasses. "Virgil's lost in the future?" he asked, putting his hand on the desk to steady himself. "You _lost_ my partner in the _future_?"

"Hey, it was an accident," Robin said defensively, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "The machine was malfunctioning."

"So, my partner was sent to the future by a malfunctioning machine," Richie snapped, rubbing firmly at his throbbing temple. "That makes me feel a whole lot better."

"Which is why you need to get changed so we can go to Gotham and you can bring him back," Robin said, tapping his fingers on the windowsill.

"This is great. Just great," Richie muttered, going to his closet and throwing open the door. "I knew I shouldn't have let him go to Gotham by himself. I knew it. He always gets himself into trouble without me."

Pushing aside a pile of dirty clothes, Richie dragged out his costume. He pulled off his shirt and had just hooked his thumbs under the waistline of his pajama pants when the sensation of eyes on his back crawled up his spine. Turning, he glared at Robin.

"You mind?" he asked mildly.

"Sorry," Robin said, looking a little sheepish. He turned around, dangling his legs out of the window, staring out over the city. "If it's any consolation, Batman's pretty sure we can get him back. That's why we need you. The machine is too complicated for us to fix and we didn't want to bring in any outside..."

Robin stopped abruptly as a loud crash echoed up from the floor. Richie, more than used to such sounds in his house, continued putting on his costume. As yet another dish broke, this time against a wall, if he heard right, he picked up his helmet, turning it over. A dirty sock fell out. Putting the helmet on his head, he wrinkled his nose, hoping the smell would dissipate soon. Taking his blades in hand, he didn't even flinch as his father shouted something less than savory at his mother, who returned the insult with equal force.

"Those your parents?" Robin asked in curious disbelief.

"Yep." Richie sat down on his bed, quickly lacing up his jet blades.

"They sound... nice."

Richie snorted. "Welcome to the real world," he said sardonically, standing up and calling for Backpack, which took its customary place on his back. "Ready to go?"

"Ready and waiting." Robin leapt out of the window, grasping onto a black rope dangling close by, connected to what Richie assumed was the Batplane. He started to crawl out after him, when Robin gestured with a nod to his bedroom floor. "You need to leave a note?"

"They won't even notice I'm gone," Richie replied shortly and was thankful when Robin only nodded again, no pity in his expression as he climbed up to the plane. Richie followed quickly.

* * *

The Batplane tore through the sky, parting the clouds like a hot knife through butter. The engine whispered like a lover, soft and seductive, only the occasional glimpse of the land below giving any indication at all of their movement towards Gotham. The red interior lights, while reducing glare and positively highlighting Robin's costume, turned Richie's a less than flattering brown, but save for that one short-coming, the Batplane was quite the technological marvel.

Any other time, or in any other circumstance, Richie would be in seventh heaven. For a long time now, he'd fantasized about Batman's technology, so complex and yet, so stylish. Normally, he'd be ecstatic with glee, poking, prodding, scanning, and learning everything he could. Now, however, he was too worried about Virgil to give a damn.

Robin, on the other hand, seemed quite worked up and agitated, tugging at the controls from his place in the cockpit and pushing buttons with more force than Richie suspected was strictly necessary. He kept muttering under his breath, something that sounded like curses to Richie's ears. He watched him for a few moments, wondering what the problem was, and then it dawned on him.

The plane was on autopilot.

"I hate it when he does this," Robin said, finally giving up and slumping back in his chair. Richie saw him scowl and cross his arms over his chest in the reflection from the windshield. "I'm trusted to wash the mighty Batplane, but does he ever let me fly it? Oh, no. Of course not. Can't have that."

Robin caught Richie's eye and turned around in his seat, hooking his arms around the back and propping his chin on the headrest.

"Does Static ever do that to you?" he asked.

Richie blinked. "Do what?" He suspected, in his state of slightly frantic worry about his best friend, that he wasn't quite grasping Robin's meaning. Their headquarters was a freaking gas station. They certainly didn't own a plane.

"You know," Robin went on. "Does he control everything, act like you're too stupid to have any real responsibility, or treat you like, well, a sidekick?"

"I'm not Static's sidekick," Richie said, glancing out the window, annoyed that they hadn't reached Gotham yet. Couldn't the stupid plane go any faster? "I'm his partner."

"His partner?"

"Yes." Richie sighed and pulled his eyes away from the window, turning back to Robin. There was an expression of genuine curiosity on the other boy's face. "We're partners," he repeated after a moment. "We're a team and we compliment each other. Static needs me to come up with the plans and keep his ego in check, and I need Static to..."

Richie paused, taking off his helmet and rubbing his eyes. He felt tired all of the sudden. What if he couldn't get Static back? What if something happened? What if something bad had already happened? What if...

"I just need him," Richie concluded softly, putting his helmet back on.

Robin looked thoughtful. "You two are really close, aren't you," he said, not asking a question, but stating a painfully obvious fact.

Richie nodded anyway. "We were best friends even before all of this super hero stuff. We went from playing video games and reading comic books to fighting crime in the space of a week. I can't imagine doing this without him."

"I've learned a lot from Batman," Robin mused, "but we're not exactly big on the talking and sharing. It must be nice having a friend like that, having someone you can really connect with, even after the masks come off."

"It is," Richie said simply.

Suddenly, the control console started beeping and Robin turned back around, refastening his seatbelt. Richie could feel the plane start to slow and descend. Looking out the window again, Richie saw the familiar Gotham skyline, made famous through postcards and artistic photography.

The city looked too close for Richie's comfort, given the size of the plane. Still, none that they passed looked up, not noticing the plane's presence. No Airforce shadowed them, either, which made Richie wonder.

"How does the stealth on this plane work?" he asked, the question just blurting out of his mouth. His brain did that sometimes, the greedy thing. "Does it reflect the electromagnetic signals from RADAR or does it absorb them? How do you hide the heat signature? Cooling inside the engine mixing the heated air with outside air before emission? What's the elemental composition of the metal in the body? How does..."

"Woah," Robin said, looking at Richie by way of the reflection and holding up both of his hands. "You are really asking the wrong guy, my friend. Maybe Batman could tell you when we get to the Batcave. All I know for certain is how long it takes to wax this thing and what brand works best."

Richie snapped his mouth shut and nodded, finally regaining control of his hyper-intelligent brain, for the time being. He went back to looking out the window, watching as the city lights drifted away as the plane got ever closer to the ground. They were heading to the outskirts of Gotham, near the waterfront. They went out over the water, the horizon line disappearing into the murky depths, then the plane turned around, heading straight for a cliff face. A well-hidden door slid open and they were suddenly deep inside the cliff, moving silently and quickly through a tunnel.

It was highly disturbing. Richie hoped they could trust the autopilot, which he was banking on, since Robin looked so calm and cool about the whole thing. He avoided his fear by thinking through a series of highly complex mathematical computations, which always made him feel better. Finally the plane began to slow and the tunnel opened up once more, this time, into a large cavern.

"Home sweet cave," Robin said as the plane hovered to a stop above a landing pad. The landing was smooth and easy and Richie felt hardly any turbulence. Richie breathed a low sigh of relief.

As soon as the cockpit opened, Robin undid his seatbelt and performed a needlessly flamboyant flip out of his seat and onto the ground. Richie climbed down a little more carefully, glancing here and there while he waited for Backpack to follow him, not moving until the robot once again settled on his back. The Batcave was just as Virgil described it - big, dank, slightly musty, vaguely guano-scented, and filled to the brim with fascinating technological knickknacks.

The giant supercomputer along the far wall looked particularly interesting. What kind of information did Batman have stored on that thing? How did he get such good resolution on it? How the heck did he get it downstairs in the first place? He started to walk forward, then stopped when he found his way instantly blocked.

Batman appeared out of nowhere, seemingly melting from the shadows. It reminded Richie of Ebon, in a way. The man was graceful as a cat, making no sound as he moved across the stone floors. He certainly looked impressive and Richie felt unsettled by his presence, like all the life had been sucked out of the room. He had the urge to confess to crimes he didn't think he committed, the Batman's mere countenance that intimidating. No wonder criminals turned and ran in fear at the mere mention of his name. Any man who could wear a hood with tiny bat ears sticking up on it and still come off that scary was a force to be reckoned with.

Robin, probably due to his familiarity with the older man, wasn't nearly so impressed.

"Thanks for letting me fly," he said peevishly, stalking past Batman and deeper into the cave.

Batman ignored him completely. "Come on," he said to Richie, deep voice resonating off the cave walls around them. He turned and walked away, obviously expecting Richie to follow without being asked. "The time machine is this way."

Richie followed.

_To Be Continued..._

A/N: Hi all! This story is done and I'm uploading part as soon as I get them HTMLed. Review if you feel like it! All feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

Paradox

Chapter Two

By: VincentM

"Damn."

Richie sat back on his knees, rubbing at his forehead as he reviewed the data on the screen in front of him. Robin, who had taken a seat in a rolling chair nearby, stopped his constant twirling and looked over at him. Batman stood behind him, unaffected by Richie's curse, arms crossed and still as a statue.

"What's the problem?" Robin asked.

Richie shook his head and grabbed another finger-food thing off a nearby plate that had been brought down to them by a very out-of-place English butler about an hour ago. He munched on it before answering. Snacking while he was working was a bad habit, he knew, but he didn't have the energy to worry about it right now.

"There's a flaw in the machine," Richie said, frowning.

Robin rolled his eyes. "We know," he said. "That's why we called you here to fix it."

"No, not that," Richie replied, standing up and pacing in irritation. "I mean, yes, the machine is broken, but that's not the problem. There's a fundamental flaw in the programming."

"Explain it," Batman said, the first words he'd spoken in almost three hours.

"It's sort of complicated," Richie warned him, pausing in his pacing.

"Try me."

Richie blew a puff of air between his lips, sitting back down on his helmet next to the machine. He put his chin in his hand and thought for several moments, trying to figure out a way to describe the problem so that the others would understand. Temporal physics was an unpleasant subject to most laypeople.

"Okay," Richie began slowly. "First thing you need to know is that history is immutable."

"Huh?" Robin said, already looking lost.

"You can't change the past," Richie tried again. "What's happened has happened. Nothing's going to change that. Even if you manage to go back in time and mess around with things, you can't alter what's already happened. If you did, we wouldn't be us and you'd end up with a paradox. History always works to correct itself."

Robin nodded. "So, what's done is done, right?"

"Right," Richie said, taking another bit of snack food and chewing it thoughtfully. An idea occurred to him and he held up his arm, bending it at the elbow. "Okay, imagine the past is your forearm. It's straight and there's only one path. Now, the present is your fist." He made a fist, looking between Batman and Robin. Robin nodded again, a little less sure this time, but Batman didn't even blink.

"The 'present' I'm talking about," Richie continued on, deciding he would take questions at the end, "is the exact moment in time Static was pulled into the future. Now, imagine in your fist your holding an infinite number of helium balloons attached to strings. Those strings are the paths to the future and each one of those balloons represents the exact moment Static arrived in the future."

"Why are there so many of them?" Robin asked, scrunching his eyebrows. "Isn't there only one future?"

"No, there are infinite futures," Richie replied. "Every decision you make, every decision made by the individuals around you, affects your future. All of these choices collectively derived accounts for an infinite number of final outcomes. Any one of those infinite futures is possible, but some of them are, by way of statistics, more likely than the others."

"I'm still not seeing the flaw."

"I'm getting there," Richie told Robin, wishing he'd quit interrupting. "The way this machine works, it sends a person to the most likely future possible. There are a couple of reasons for this. First of all, that future is the easiest one to pass a quantum signal to from our own and, more importantly, it reduces the risk that you're going to end up sending somebody to a future where the world is under nuclear winter or a massive asteroid has wiped out the ozone layer."

"That would kind of suck," Robin murmured.

"Yeah, it would," Richie agreed. "What's happened is, the statistics have changed. The outcomes have been altered. The future Virgil went to was the most likely at the time he disappeared, but that's no longer the case, because everything's different now. The most likely future had Virgil in it past the point where he disappeared, so wherever Virgil is, odds are, he's run into himself. In addition, the very act of bringing Virgil back from the future makes that future more unlikely, because Virgil would have intimate knowledge of that future and the ability to change anything he might discover is undesirable. I can't use the same pathway he was sent on to pull him back, because the numbers don't add up anymore."

"I think I'm lost," Robin said, scratching his head.

Richie sighed. "To put it simply, the math is bad, we can't retrieve him using the same formulas that sent him to the future in the first place, and this machine," Richie thumped it for emphasis, "was never designed to actually bring people back. It's a one-way ticket."

The room became deathly silent, Richie final words echoing off into the distance. Robin slumped down in his chair, looking distinctly unhappy. Batman, however, stared intently at Richie.

"Can you fix it?" he asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence around them.

Richie closed his eyes, letting himself dive fully into the math. He calculated future probabilities, using theoretical math barely touched upon by any of the most advanced researchers in the world. The numbers felt chaotic at first, then, slowly they resolved themselves. After several minutes, Richie opened his eyes, looking seriously at Batman.

"I can," he said, "but I need a few things." He stood up, stretching briefly, then put a hand on his hip. "Do you think Radio Shack is still open?"

* * *

While Alfred had offered to take them in the limo, Richie respectively declined. He wanted to get a feel for the city, never having visited Gotham before. Not knowing his surroundings very well made Richie slightly paranoid. It didn't take much for Richie to become paranoid these days. Virgil often teased him about it.

Instead, he road on the back of a motorcycle, being terrifyingly driven by Robin... or rather, Tim. Tim drove like a maniac. Richie was starting to understand why Batman never allowed him to fly the Batplane. He wouldn't let him touch his jet blades.

"Can you slow down?" Richie shouted over the wind. Tim didn't hear him, which wasn't a surprise, given their speed and the bulky helmets they were wearing. Forcing himself not to panic, Richie instead looked from side to side, taking in the city, even if it was happening by at lightening speed.

Gotham was very different from Dakota, which looked like Hickville compared to this massive metropolis. The sky was a deep red, no doubt from all the pollution in the air, and everything seemed gloomy, even the people they passed. When they traveled past poor sections, Richie didn't get the same feeling he did in his own neighborhood. He knew, from his own bored research, that there were distinct differences in the type of crimes committed between the two cities. In Dakota's case, the majority of the crime came from gang bangers, drug dealers, and, now, metahumans. Gotham, however, had a very high incidence of white-collar organized crime, committed Mafia style, and also had more than its share of dangerous psychotics who seemed to prefer attacking with a theme, such as clowns, plants, or hats, which Batman dealt with on a regular basis.

Maybe it had something to do with the pollution. Richie didn't know, but he thought it might warrant more research. He would think about that later, though. First, he wanted to have Virgil back safe and sound.

Finally, the terrifying ride ended, Tim pulling into a space right in front of a Radio Shack that had bars on the windows. They dashed inside, barely making it before they closed, and Richie gave an apologetic smile to the exhausted looking cashier, who looked positively pained at their entrance. Tim immediately made his way to the audio equipment, staring longingly at this and that.

Richie took to the back, perusing the shelves for the items he'd need. Wires, cables, batteries, various components, parts, and chemicals all found their way into his hands. He snatched a high-tech GPS locator, ceramic capacitors, transistors, and many other items that an average person would probably find no connection between. Richie knew what he was doing, though.

Arms loaded down, Richie walked up to the counter, setting down his purchases with a huff. The cashier raised an eyebrow, then raised the other when Tim arrived at the counter with an incredibly expensive, mini-DVD player. She didn't immediately start to ring them up.

"And how will you gentleman be paying for this today?" she asked skeptically.

Richie stepped back and deferred to Tim, who pulled out his wallet and waved a plastic, platinum-colored card in her face.

"American Express," he told her. "Don't leave home without it. Want to see my ID?"

She nodded and Tim handed it to her. Shrugging, she started ringing up their purchases. Richie watched with something close to excitement as the total rang higher and higher on the display. Beep after beep, the number went up, reaching a total far beyond anything Richie himself could ever pay for in about two years.

"That'll be two-thousand, eight-hundred, twenty-three dollars and forty-two cents," she said at last.

Richie balked, but Tim only shrugged, gesturing to his credit card. The cashier swiped it, looking surprised when the sale was approved, but making no further comment. She put everything into bags and handed them to Richie, who held them carefully.

"Thank you," the cashier said. "Have a good evening."

"Here's hoping," Tim said, dragging Richie out of the store. The sign on the door flipped over to 'closed' the second their feet hit the sidewalk.

"Jesus," Richie breathed, looking at Tim with awe. "You do know that's more than my parents make in a month and they both have full-time jobs."

"There are some advantages to being Bruce Wayne's ward," Tim said by way of explanation, carefully securing their purchases to the motorcycle.

Richie couldn't argue with that. Money, or the distinct lack of it, always seemed to be hanging over his and Virgil's heads. They scrimped by as best they could, squeezing every penny, stretching every bit of cash they could get their hands on to the fullest. They had to get creative sometimes - Virgil developed an amazing gift for sewing, finding himself repairing his costume constantly from the general wear and tear of super heroing. Richie spent the majority of his free time scrounging around in junkyards for the things he needed to build his inventions, only going to purchase items when it was an absolute necessity. Even then, he usually acquired them from shady deals made with less than reputable individuals who sold components out of the back of various cars. "Fell off the truck" specials made up most of their arsenal.

He knew, if they wanted to keep doing this hero-thing, they were going to need a steady cash flow. Richie had a few ideas on how to achieve that. Some of them wouldn't quite pass the moral code they'd adopted as Superheroes, though. The perfect bank robbery and various kinds of ingenious fraud would make them quick cash, but definitely not in a way either of them would feel comfortable with. Richie even entertained the idea, if they could hold out until he was twenty-one, that he could hit up Vegas and get himself thrown out of every casino for winning too much.

Richie never claimed his plans were practical.

But, that was neither here nor there. First things first - he wanted Virgil back, now. The items safely secured, Richie climbed back on the motorcycle behind Tim, putting on his helmet and wrapping his arms around the other boy. The engine revved up with a roar and Richie cringed.

"Go slower this time," he called, but either Tim didn't hear him or didn't care, because they were off like a speeding bullet before Richie could so much as curse.

_To Be Continued..._

A/N: Whew. Maybe two or so more parts to go. Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

Paradox

Chapter Three

_Or... A Chat with the Butler_

By: VincentM

"Lunchtime!"

Richie grunted something in reply to the person calling him, huffing in satisfaction as the final transistor snapped into place. He crawled away from the time machine, suddenly painfully aware of his sore, aching muscles and rumbling stomach. He rubbed his eyes furiously, his glasses sliding up to this forehead. They burned and stung as though they'd been scrubbed with sea salt. He wondered when he last blinked.

And... lunchtime? Richie eyes widened in surprise. That much time had really passed? He looked around the Batcave in slight confusion. Since it was underground, he didn't notice the day wearing on. He actually had no idea when Batman and Robin had wandered off.

He finally set eyes on who had called to him. Alfred smiled warmly at Richie as he made his way down the long staircase from the mansion above. In his hands he held a silver tray, the gilded edges sparkling in the dim light. Sandwiches sat in a neat pile atop of it, perfectly garnished in an artful, beautiful fashion that seemed somehow off to Richie, given the circumstances.

"What time is it?" Richie asked, groaning as he struggled to his feet. His knees tried to buckle, probably due to his sitting in one position for so long, but he held his ground. He felt stiff all over.

"Well past lunch, actually," Alfred said, setting the tray on a nearby table. He pulled an entire table setting seemingly out of the air. There was even a tiny vase with a flower in it. Two glass bottles of soda bubbled next the tray and Richie licked his lips. "You've been working non-stop for several hours. I was concerned, sir."

Staggering as gracefully as possible over to the table, pausing only to hit a few buttons on Batman's massive computer, Richie collapsed in the closest chair. He picked up a bottle of soda, the cold sensation a relief to his pained joints. "Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth," he said as he took a sip, the liquid sugar doing wonders for his parched throat. "I didn't realize it was that late. Where are Batman and Robin?"

"Master Bruce is at work at the moment and Master Tim is hopefully in school, sir," Alfred replied, still standing quite formally. "At least, that's where he's supposed to be."

The last part was muttered more than spoken, an underlying bit of frustration breaking through Alfred's perfectly polite tone. It made Richie smile. Picking up one of the sandwiches, he nearly laughed in amusement when he saw the crusts were cut off. Sniffing it before taking a bite, he looked up at Alfred, raising an eyebrow. "Tunafish?" he asked.

"I'm told it's brainfood, sir."

"Probably because it has so much dolphin in it," Richie said with a toothy grin, then took a bite. It tasted wonderful, not at all like the three for a dollar canned stuff he had back in Dakota. He suspected it might be fresh.

Alfred smiled. "Probably so, sir."

Swallowing, Richie shook his head. "You don't have to call me, 'sir', Mr. Pennyworth," he told the other man, feeling uncomfortable. Richie wasn't a rich man and certainly not important enough to warrant this kind of treatment.

Alfred seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, Richard," he said, "but then there is no need to call me, 'Mr. Pennyworth'. Alfred will do."

"Fair enough," Richie said, smiling. He found he was rather fond of Alfred's smooth, British accent. It was helping to soothe his nerves, even though hearing his proper first name spoken with such class was a little off-putting. He gestured to the chair next to him. "Please, have a seat. Eat with me. I feel weird eating alone."

At first, Alfred seemed inclined to decline, then, perhaps understanding Richie better than most ever did, he conceded, sitting as requesting. He took the sandwich Richie handed to him without a moment's hesitation, though he looked vaguely amused at the very concept. Richie felt better now that the other man was sitting down, although it still looked like his spine was made a rebar, much different from Richie's current, undignified slouch.

Backpack crawled up the side of the table, settling itself next to the silver tray. Alfred watched on curiously as Richie removed a small hand-held from the robot, staring intently at several readouts. He nodded slowly.

"How go the repairs, Richard?" Alfred asked, breaking Richie's almost zombie-like concentration on the handheld.

He put it to the side, but not far enough away that he couldn't glance at it from time to time. "Well," he began slowly, taking another sandwich in hand, "I had to rebuild large portions of the machine and completely rewrite the software, which is what I have downloading into it right now. It's going to take a couple of hours. Processors only work so fast, I'm afraid. Still, if everything works like it's supposed to, Static will be back by nightfall."

"How remarkable," Alfred said with undisguised awe.

"Yeah, it's a pretty cool piece of technology," Richie agreed, then smirked. "That doesn't mean I'm not going to take a sledgehammer to it as soon as Static is home, though, mind you."

"Actually, I was referring to you, Richard," Alfred said. "You have an amazing gift.

Gift? Richie was stunned speechless, the soda bottle frozen halfway to his lips. A gift? His so-called powers were the furthest thing from a gift he could imagine. Putting the soda bottle down hard on the table, Richie shook his head.

"It's not a gift," he said bitterly. "It's a curse."

"Nonsense," Alfred said with a wave of his hand. "You are extremely intelligent, a rare characteristic to possess these days. More importantly, you are using that intelligence to make a positive difference in the world. Why would you call that a curse?"

"Because I'm not me anymore," Richie said. He reached down and picked morosely at a piece of lettuce used as garnish on the tray, tearing it into little pieces. "Sometimes, my brain is so busy, I feel like it's going to explode. I've got ideas you can't imagine, thoughts that don't feel like my own. I keep wondering if I'm going crazy. Nothing keeps my interest and, occasionally, things make so much sense, they cease to make sense anymore, if that makes any sense."

Alfred was giving him a strange look and Richie reviewed that last sentence in his head, then frowned.

"See what I mean?" he moaned helplessly.

"So it will take some getting used to," Alfred replied, looking at Richie fondly. "That is true with anything. That can't be all that's troubling you."

"It's not." Richie sighed. The lettuce was in chunks too small to tear anymore. He started on the parsley. "Nobody trusts me. Not that I blame them, of course, but still..."

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

Richie didn't say anything at first. Everything was so much more complicated now. At times like these, he longed for the days when the most he had to worry about was passing his math test with at least a 'C' and not getting kicked out of his house. Now, he had to worry about the world not finding out he was a super genius and, well, not getting kicked out of his house, which was looking more and more likely these days. The fights with his father were getting worse.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Most of the people that were affected by the Big Bang are evil or insane, sometimes both," Richie said at last. "Most of them were bad news to begin with, but some were just regular kids who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They still lost it in the end. I'm doing good now, but... what if that changes? What if I slip?"

So many thoughts kept bouncing around his head. Richie estimated at least seventy percent of them would qualify as less-than-ethical. He didn't act on those thoughts, involving everything from bombs to bioweapons, but that didn't mean they weren't there and that the ideas he had - devastating ideas - weren't feasible. He'd kept himself in check by sheer will and a firm streak of morality he suspected he picked up from Virgil's father, of all places, but that didn't mean he wasn't tempted.

His life was hard. He knew the statistics for kids like him. Coming from a broken, low-income home, with an emotionally abusive father and a doormat for a mother... if not for Virgil, he'd probably be on drugs right now. Or dead. But, these days, everything was so stressful, not only at home, but also at school, and with the crime fighting... how much would it take to push him over the edge?

Not much, he suspected, and it scared the hell out of him.

"The Justice League doesn't trust me," Richie continued, shaking his head in a futile gesture to clear it, "especially after Braniac."

"That was a tragic set of circumstances, to be sure," Alfred said, "but it certainly was not your fault. Why do you believe that would have affected their opinion of you?"

"Let me put it this way," Richie said, resting his elbows on the table. "When Braniac downloaded itself into Backpack, it was looking for a way to escape the Watchtower and begin regenerating itself so it could carry out its archiving program. In order to carry this out, it originally enlisted me to be the body to get the things it needed to rebuild. However, while in the midst of that rebuild, it discovered something. It discovered a processor faster than anything mechanical could manage, a processor that was so quick, so efficient, that it made even the most advanced technology seem obsolete. It jumped on the chance to integrate the processor immediately. It used Backpack as a way to connect with that processor, since the method for doing so almost seamlessly was already ingrained in my robot's programming. That processor was this." Richie tapped the side of his head. "My brain."

Silence fell over the cavern, broken only occasionally by the distant squeaking of bats. Richie gave Alfred time to come to terms with what he'd just said, picking up another sandwich and toying with it. At last, Alfred spoke.

"Oh, my."

Richie thought that summed up the situation perfectly.

"Exactly," he said, slumping back in his chair, nibbling on the sandwich. He gave Alfred a wry grin. "You know, Static told me the Justice League originally intended to take me out in order to eliminate Braniac. I think it's safe to assume they had motivations for that beyond the fate of the world. Last thing they probably want to deal with in the future is an evil super genius, you know?"

Alfred frowned at that. "I do not believe the Justice League advocates the terminal prevention of future evil acts prior to them being committed."

"Maybe not," Richie conceded, "but they are trying to distance me from Static. They've more or less offered him a place in the Justice League when he's older, something that was not offered to me. They probably think I'm something of a liability. They don't trust me."

"Master Bruce trusts you," Alfred replied. "You would not be here if he didn't."

"I guess."

Richie was skeptical of that. After all, if Batman really trusted him, why was Virgil summoned to Gotham alone? Timecode was a Dakota villain, a disgruntled scientist from Alva Industries whose work Richie had been monitoring for some time. It was one of the reasons he'd slipped to Gotham, probably realizing that Gear was on his trail, not to mention the fact that Gotham villains could pay him more for his services.

Timecode wasn't the typical, bang-'em-up, bring-'em-in sort of villain His early experiments mostly involved sending inanimate objects a few hours into the future, nothing that was particularly illegal. After the incident with Timezone a few months back, though, Richie developed a passing interest in time travel theories, which is how he got involved in the first place. When Timecode started trafficking people, rather than rolls of duct tape, Richie knew they were in for trouble. He'd even gone so far as to forward all of his information on the man to Batman personally.

And, yet, only Virgil went to Gotham in the end.

Richie knew, without a doubt, that if he'd been present, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be sitting here eating tuna fish with Bruce Wayne's butler, waiting for his software to download into the machine that had dragged his best friend to a time unknown. The machine would be dismantled to the point where it would be a very large paperweight, or possibly a nice conversation piece for a living room, and he would be in Dakota right now, feeling his brain melt from boredom in Algebra class, passing notes that he knew would make Virgil smile.

"I should have been here," Richie said, kicking the table leg out of spite. "Batman didn't want me to come. I don't know why, but now look at this mess we're in."

"I believe he though you were too close to the situation," Alfred remarked quietly. "He is aware of your recent investigations into Alva Industries and that Timecode was involved in the research you found so interesting. Am I correct?"

Richie blinked stupidly at the butler. "How did he know about that?"

"He's Batman, of course."

Of course. Richie laughed, though there was no joy in the sound. Of course Batman knew. Batman probably knew what he had for breakfast two weeks ago, the crazy stalker/control freak. Still, something wasn't adding up.

"But what difference does it make if I hack into a couple of Alva's systems?" Richie asked. "Wouldn't that make me that much more valuable to a mission of this sort?"

"From what I understand, Batman was growing concerned that you were allowing yourself to get too close to Alva, too interested in his projects," Alfred said. "The man is... less than scrupulous in his business dealings. Any offer he could make you might be tempting. Batman feared you might be swayed, as it were."

Richie smirked. "And I guess we wouldn't want my innocent self with this marvelous brain crossing over to the dark side, right?"

"Quite." Alfred swept up the garnish pieces littering the table, putting them neatly on one corner of the now empty tray. "Master Bruce has been following your development with keen interest," the butler said, almost as if it were an off-hand comment. "As I said, intelligence is a rare commodity these days, intelligence coupled with morality even more so. Finding scientists he can trust, either in the business world or in his other projects, is always something of a challenge for Master Bruce. So long as you keep to your current path, there may very well be a future for you with Waynetech."

Richie's jaw fell open. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. A job with Waynetech? A real job? Where he would get paid to bring his ideas to life and share them with an employer he was reasonably sure he could trust? All the resources at his disposal, all the theories he could finally test, all the things he could do... The opportunities were almost unimaginable.

When Richie thought about his future, he saw doom and gloom. He always assumed he and Virgil would be forever trying to keep their secret lives a secret, while slowly sinking into bankruptcy at the cost of maintaining their alternate personas. While most kids his age were getting excited about college, it didn't seem nearly as interesting to Richie as it once did. What was the point? They couldn't teach him anything he wouldn't figure out on his own.

But working for Bruce Wayne, working for _Batman_... that was... that was...

"Cool," Richie said at last, though his voice hardly sounded like his own.

"Yes. Very... cool," Alfred agreed, taking the empty soda bottle out of Richie's nerveless fingers. "In addition to some very exciting projects in the Research and Development department of Waynetech, I know Master Bruce has been considering some upgrades of a more... personal nature. He mentioned something about putting a kind of circuitry net into his costume and reworking the AI in many of his vehicles. You'll have to discuss it with him when he returns from work, of course. It's all a bit over my head, I'm afraid."

Richie nodded dumbly.

"In the meantime," Alfred continued, "I'll allow you to continue your work down here, now that I feel better knowing you've eaten." Alfred stood and gathered the tray, holding it in one hand. With his other, he reached down and squeezed Richie's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Simply call if you need anything, Richard."

Richie gave a little half-wave as Alfred departed back up the stairs. The shocked expression gradually left his face, replaced with a broad grin. Jumping up from his chair, he couldn't hold back a little victory dance.

Something told him he'd just been interviewed, in a way. Alfred was probably instructed to come downstairs and make small talk with him, just to make sure he was sane. From how his conversation with the old butler ended, Richie had a very good feeling about how he'd done.

"This is so, so cool!" he said to Backpack, which didn't respond in the slightest. That was just as well. Richie talked to the robot all the time, but it wasn't programmed to respond back. If it did, well, _then_ Richie would be worried. "I have a future! A real future! This is... I've got to tell Virgil!"

Walking over to Batman's massive computer console, Richie hit it gently on its side.

"Download faster," he said, waving his finger at the machine.

Suddenly, the future didn't look nearly as dim.

_To Be Continued..._

A/N: One more chapter to go! (BTW: Is anyone else getting really irritated by FF.net's stripping of certain characters? What, I can't use astriks as dividers anymore? Sheesh!) Anyway, review if you feel like it! As I said, feedback is always appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

Paradox

Chapter Four

By: VincentM

When Batman returned from his day job and Robin from school, Richie didn't notice right away. Shoulder deep within the innards of the time machine, trying to reconnect the internal power source, Richie's world narrowed to circuits, wires, and a series of ones and zeros. It wasn't until Robin cleared his throat that he became aware of their presence.

"How's it going?" Robin asked him as he crawled out of the machine. Batman stood silently by the younger boy's side.

"Well," Richie said, standing up and rubbing his neck, "I think I just reinvented physics, but it should be working."

"Good," Batman said, stepping back. He reached out a hand a dragged Robin back with him when it was clear the other boy originally intended to remain standing far too close to the machine. "Activate it."

Richie nodded, typing with lightening speed on a keyboard attached to Backpack, which was in turn linked to the time machine. The machine hummed, a green glow lightening the cavern around them, reflecting off of Richie's helmet in an almost eerie fashion. Energy crackled from one node to the other, the powerful combination of physics, math, and a little luck making the very air feel electrified. To Richie, it wasn't terribly disturbing. It sort of reminded him of when he stood too close to Virgil sometimes.

"Here goes everything," he whispered, holding his breath and crossing his fingers.

The machine sparked and sputtered in an impressive light show and then.... it died.

"Dammit," Richie muttered, getting back on his knees and checking several readouts, trying to figure out what went wrong. He heard Robin sigh.

"So, now what?" the younger boy asked impatiently.

Richie waved him silent. Staring at the display upon his helmet's faceguard, he double-checked the programming. Everything looked okay on that end. No, he had a feeling it was the internal power source. From how Batman described the accident that sent his best friend to the future in the first place, Richie understood a great deal about the condition of the machine as he first saw it. Many of the internal circuits were fried from Virgil's powers, and he'd been forced to replace most of the hardware. Apparently, he'd missed something.

He stared up at another readout on Batman's screen, frowning. "If I'm reading this right," he said, "one of power couplings is out of alignment. Fixing it by hand would take hours, unless..."

Richie paused, looking critically at the machine, letting his brain do the hard work for him. An idea popped into his head and he grinned. Simple, yet stylish. Richie liked it when things worked out like that. Crossing the room, he dug through Batman's toolkit, knowing exactly what he needed.

"Man this sucks," Robin was saying. "How are you going to..."

Richie stood up, cutting off Robin's speech by waving the tool he'd sought in front of the other boy's face.

"I'm going to hit it with a hammer," Richie informed the Boy Wonder.

Robin blinked as Richie walked back over to the machine. "Hit it with a hammer?" he repeated, aghast. "Hit it with a hammer? A brain the size of Cleveland and your solution is to _hit it with a hammer_?"

"A brain the size of Cleveland that tells me _where_ to hit it with a hammer," Richie replied, hoisting back the hammer and taking a mighty swing.

The clang echoed through the cavern, starling several bats. More importantly, the machine instantly revved to life, the power humming through the device just the way Richie wanted. It sounded like beautiful music to his ears. Shielding his eyes, Richie ducked down behind the machine to avoid any power surges as the room once again lit up like a tacky Christmas card. He heard a thud, followed by a familiar groan, and Richie barely resisted the urge to jump for joy. Before he did anything else, though, he remained where he was sitting, yanking open a side panel and making absolutely sure the internal power source was disconnected.

"Welcome back," he heard Batman say.

Positive the machine wouldn't be unexpectedly sending anyone into the future anytime soon, Richie bounced to his feet, grinning over at Virgil from the over the armrest. "Ye-ah!" he said cheerfully. "I knew I could fix this!"

"Gear!" Virgil cried, his eyes lighting up as he struggled to his feet. "I saw the future! I saw you, I saw myself, I saw Batman... Batman!" He turned to the Dark Knight, clearly excited. "You were..."

"I'd rather not know," Batman said in a warning tone, holding up his hand.

"Well, you still had your hair," Virgil told him cheerfully, then winced in obvious pain, rubbing the side of his head.

Richie was by his friend's side in an instant. "You gonna be okay?" he asked, worried. If the thud he'd heard was any indication, Virgil had hit the floor pretty damn hard.

"I'm gonna be _just_ fine," Virgil assured him, his tone speaking volumes. It sounded like a promise. "Oh, and Gear?" he added, poking Richie in the chest, putting on the expression Richie had long since come to recognize as shit-faced. "Maybe you should lay off the fries."

Richie looked down at Virgil's finger, then matched his grin. Ah, he might have guessed. The old Foley middle age spread. Every male relative on his father's side that he knew of suffered from it. It was probably some kind of curse... that and the alcoholism.

"Thanks for the heads up, bro," Richie replied, batting Virgil's finger away in a playful gesture. "It's celery and carrot sticks for me from now on."

"Right on, man," Virgil said with a laugh, the clutched his own stomach in a flair of melodrama. "Speaking of food... Damn. I feel like I haven't eaten a thing in forty years. Anyplace around here a brother can get his grub on?"

"The kitchen is fully stocked and then some," Robin said, smiling and jerking his thumb in the direction of the stairs.

Richie nearly laughed at the gleeful expression on Virgil's face at that news.

"Great! Lead on, my friend!" Virgil said, clapping a hand to Robin's shoulder. As they started for the stairs, Virgil stopped, looking back at Richie. "You coming?"

"I think, in light of what you've seen in the future and my own genetics, it's probably better that I don't," Richie said with a lopsided grin of his own. "Besides, I've got some stuff to finish up here. I don't want anybody accidentally going to the future again any time soon."

Virgil nodded, then walked back over to Richie. He held out his fist, his smile wide and his eyes bright under his mask. Richie took the cue for what it was, meeting Virgil's fist with his own, initiating their elaborate handshake. It felt so good to do. Virgil was back, no doubt about it. This alone proved it to Richie in a way nothing else would.

Their handshake completed, meaning so much more than just an expression of friendship, Virgil practically dragged Robin up the stairs. Richie watched them go, laughing and joking together, until his friend disappeared through the door to the mansion above. As soon as Virgil was out of sight, Richie let out a breath he didn't even noticed he'd been holding, sinking on his knees to the floor as relief flooded him, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded. It reminded him of the time Virgil and his family had gone away for a week when he was thirteen, off to a family reunion or something similar. Richie, being left alone with his foul-tempered father, spent one afternoon drinking an entire case of beer he'd stolen from the man. He felt the same as he did back then - giddy, off-balance, vaguely happy, and slightly sick to his stomach. He even thought he might throw up, but he squashed that feeling, not wanting to mess up the nice, clean Batcave floor.

"He's okay," Richie whispered, closing his eyes, the stone feeling cold on his knees. It felt like he was at Mass. Maybe he really was praying in a way. "He's really okay."

"Thanks to you."

Richie started, turning around to find Batman staring at him. He'd forgotten the man's presence entirely and hearing his voice sent a shockwave through him, breaking through the almost overwhelming emotions swirling about in his brain. Richie still felt intimidated by Batman's presence, but not nearly as badly as before.

"Yeah, I guess," Richie said after a moment, frowning. "But, what if I hadn't..."

"Time to finish this," Batman said, cutting Richie off mid-sentence. He tossed him a screwdriver in one, smooth motion.

Richie's catch wasn't nearly as smooth. He fumbled with the tool, nearly dropping it before securing it tightly against his chest. Batman didn't notice his lack of grace, having already turned away and kneeling next to the time machine, staring intently through the panel Richie opened earlier. Dragging himself to his feet, Richie went to Batman's side.

"Okay," he said as he got to his knees. Whether he was agreeing to Batman's statement or simply signaling that they should begin, he didn't know. Batman clearly wanted to get down to business. Robin did mention the older man wasn't much of a talker.

They worked in silence for several minutes, Richie pulling out this and that, occasionally gesturing to things for Batman to hold or remove. As though they were performing some kind of choreographed pantomime, they made short work of the machine, its electronic insides soon laying in piles on the floor around them. At last, the machine was nothing more than an empty shell. It might even make a nice lounge chair, Richie decided, but didn't say as much.

Batman stood up, going over to his massive computer. Richie followed without being asked. The code and the plans Richie spent the better part of the day working on were still displayed on the oversized monitor.

"Wipe it from the memory," Batman told him.

Richie nodded. A few keystrokes later, his work no longer existed, vanished into the ether. It make Richie feel strange to watch it disappear. The works of the ancient world, whether cave drawings, stone tablets, or old, dusty books, could still be found and enjoyed. His work, his generation's work, could be destroyed with the push of a button, like it never existed at all, leaving no trace, no record.

It made Richie a little sad.

Still, this program and the improved time machine design were better not remembered, he knew. He went and did the same to Backpack without Batman's urging, kneeling on the floor next to the robot. He didn't move until he was certain every byte of data concerning time machine was beyond recovery.

"Done." Richie stood up, stretching, feeling pleased regardless of his slight sense of loss. "Now, nobody can ever recreate Timecode's invention."

"Except for you."

Richie stiffened, stumbling as he turned a little too quickly to face Batman. The man's expression was as carefully controlled and emotionless as ever, giving no indication of what thoughts passed through his head beneath the mask. The discomfort returned with a vengeance and Richie didn't say anything for a second, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tried to understand Batman's hidden meaning.

"I guess that's one memory we can't wipe clean," Richie said finally, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing off to one side. Batman didn't reply, didn't even move. Richie wasn't even sure he was breathing.

Irrational irritation swelled inside of Richie's chest. He dropped his hand back to his side, feeling it clench into a fist briefly before relaxing it by will alone. It wasn't his fault he had the brain he did. Batman's silence felt like an accusation.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked shortly. "I can't change who I am."

Batman remained stoic. Richie let out a growl of frustration, pacing the floor. He tapped Backpack with his foot as he passed it, feeling the prickly sensation of the robot climbing back to its designated spot. Crossing over to stand by the table where he and Alfred enjoyed lunch that afternoon, Richie leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He met Batman's gaze head on.

"Stop it." Richie squeezed his own arms to prevent himself from lashing out at the older man physically, the stare and the unspoken judgement quickly becoming unbearable. He felt out of control and that scared him more than Batman's silence. "I'm not going to forget. There's nothing you can do about that, except kill me."

When Batman still didn't respond, Richie narrowed his eyes.

"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly, trying to provoke some kind of reaction. "You want to kill me? It would be easy enough. All of you know who I really am."

Still nothing.

Richie dropped his hands to his sides, clenching both into tight fists. His nails cut into the soft skin of his palms, his body taunt with tension. He took a single step closer to the older man.

"What have I ever done to any of you to make you think I'm going to slip?" he demanded. A wry, sardonic smile twitched at his lips. "I know it looks bad. I know the odds aren't in my favor. My father treats my mother, myself, and anyone that isn't a white, card-carrying member of the KKK like we're less than garbage. I practically grew up on the streets. I've been offered drugs, courted by gangs and thugs, and had opportunities presented to me that would even make _your_ stomach twist in revulsion. But I never slipped.

"Maybe it was my friendship with Virgil that saved me," Richie went on, taking yet another step closer to Batman. "Maybe it's because his family took me in as one of their own, no questions asked. Maybe it was my mother's hypocritical attempt to impose values in me different from my father's, values that she can never express because her spine has the consistency of cooked spaghetti. Maybe it was my own will, my own sheer determination, to live up to my own brand of morality. I don't know. I suspect I never will. The point is, I never changed."

They were more or less face to face, Richie standing scant inches from the statue-like Batman, who still hadn't so much as blinked. It was driving Richie crazy, making him mad without reason. The man was just standing there. Why did it feel so much like an inquisition?

The anger he felt, a legacy of his father, kept growing. It moved to the point of almost overwhelming him, Richie feeling his hands twitch in fury at the need to hit, punch, scream, and yell - anything to relieve the tension. Then, without warning, it changed.

His father used that anger to hurt others, shallowly lashing out at anyone and everyone for any reason in an attempt to make himself feel like more of a man, to make himself feel like a better, stronger man. That same anger in Richie did something completely different. He drew it into himself, feeling it wrap around a part of his soul like a shield and a brace all in one. He pulled it together in a tight ball in the pit of his stomach, creating a core of strength he could rely on, not to belittle others, but to fight for himself, using that anger to fuel his confidence. It was empowering, much more so than acting like a jackass ever could be.

"I didn't change," Richie repeated, his voice strong and sure, drawing on his inner strength to give him the power to stand up to Batman, of all people. "My IQ jumping a few hundred points doesn't make a difference. I'm the same person. I'll never slip. Never. That's not who I am."

Batman still said nothing. Richie didn't back down, never giving any sign of defeat or weakness. Maybe Batman didn't believe him. Richie didn't care. He knew it was the truth.

Then, Batman nodded.

"Good," was all he said, then turned and started walking away.

Richie blinked stupidly at his back.

"The two of you are returning to Dakota in twenty minutes. Be ready by then," Batman said, then stopped, looking over his shoulder at Richie. "We'll be in touch."

Batman vanished into the shadows, leaving Richie standing there, incredibly confused. He knew in an instant Batman's last statement had nothing to do with Virgil. He stared at the spot where the older man disappeared.

Then, like when he first put his glasses on in the morning, everything instantly came sharply into focus. The corner of Richie's lip twitched. He almost laughed.

It was a test.

Given Batman's statement, Richie suspected he passed with flying colors.

* * *

Richie could barely keep his eyes open.

The gentle humming of the Batplane's engine sounded like a lullaby, the barely perceptible corrections the autopilot made as they journeyed back to Dakota rocking him soothingly. The leather covering of the seat, warmed by his own body heat, hugged him like a pair of welcoming arms. He hadn't slept in nearly two days and it was staring to catch up with him. Even Virgil's constant chatter seemed to melt into the background, making him feel safe and content.

"... and so, there are all these clowns and they're throwing pies, but the pies are bombs, and I ask you bro - have you ever heard of anything so stupid?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Now, the snake people, they had the right idea. Those guys creeped me out. Man, I'm glad we don't gotta deal with them for another forty years, because they're just gross."

"Uh, huh."

"But, I'm telling you, when all those leprechauns jumped out of the bushes and ripped my clothes off, then made me do that Irish jig? I think that was then I knew I really needed to get on home."

"Mmm... what?" Richie's eyes snapped open and he tilted his head back, blinking in confusion.

Virgil grinned down at him, leaning over the back of his seat with his chin resting on Richie's headrest. His arms dangled on either side of Richie's chair, warm, chocolate brown fingertips just brushing Richie's shoulders. At Richie's clear confusion, Virgil winked.

"Dumbass," Richie said, sticking his tongue out at the other boy.

"Hey, just making sure you were paying attention," Virgil said, going for innocence, but failing, since the wicked grin stayed firmly in place. "I'd hate to think the story of my sordid adventure into the future is putting you to sleep."

"Sorry," Richie said through a yawn, rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to wake up. His helmet nearly slipped off his lap and he made a quick grab for it. "I put in a lot of overtime rescuing you, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Virgil's grin faded somewhat. "Thanks. I'm not sure I said that, yet."

Richie waved him off. "You'd do the same for me," he said, then raised his eyebrow. "Well, if you could, of course, but you probably couldn't."

"Gee, thanks," Virgil said, less sincerely. "You know, sometimes, I miss being the smart one."

"You're young. You'll cope."

"Yeah, I guess I will."

Virgil sounded unusually thoughtful. Richie looked up and back at his friend. Virgil was staring at him with an strange look on his face, unspoken questions dancing in his eyes.

"What's up?" Richie asked, shifting uncomfortably. He sensed that Virgil was dwelling on something he'd learned in the course of his little journey to the future that he'd yet to share. Richie wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Virgil frowned. "I was just wondering about Batman."

"Batman?" Richie echoed, surprised.

"Yeah," Virgil said with a slow nod, still giving Richie a searching look. "What did you two talk about when me and Robin went to raid the kitchen? You looked like you were in another world when I got back downstairs."

Richie opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, glancing away from Virgil. He stared at the Batplane's instrument panel, gathering his thoughts. How much of what passed between he and Batman did he really want to reveal to Virgil? It wasn't anything overly shocking, nothing Virgil probably didn't already know, and Richie doubted he'd understand how big of an impact such simple truths made on his whole outlook on life. He suspected all major epiphanies were like that, an 'oh, wow' moment for those that had them, and a 'well, duh' moment from those around them.

He settled on an edited version of the truth, knowing he could never pull off a lie and expect Virgil to drop the subject.

"Batman didn't talk about much of anything," Richie said at last, tilting his head back once more to look up at Virgil. "You know how he is, bro. I did pretty much all the talking, but it helped me figure out a few things out for myself, stuff that you probably already know."

"Good stuff or bad stuff?"

"Both." Richie smiled. "I think he wanted me to prove myself, wanted to find out who I really was, because..." Richie paused, taking in a slow breath, then letting it out through pursed lips. "I think... he offered me a job."

Virgil perked up at that news.

"Really?" he asked, bouncing slightly. "Dude, that's so cool."

"Tell me about it," Richie said, his smile growing ever wider. Just thinking about working for Bruce Wayne made little butterflies dance a conga in his stomach. "I think it's going to work out great."

"Just promise me this, man," Virgil said, looking a little more serious. "No matter what, you have got to tell me where you're going, because I don't want my future self kidnapped by snake people again, okay?"

Richie blinked. He had no idea what Virgil was talking about. Maybe he should have paid a little closer attention to his chatter earlier. Shrugging mentally, Richie decided to make Virgil happy. He knew he could get clarification later, in one way or the other.

So, rather than ask, he just nodded. "It's a deal," he promised, raising his fist. Virgil seemed placated by that and tapped his fist with his own in a shortened version of their handshake.

"I gotta say, Rich, our future is looking pretty good," Virgil said, practically draping himself over the back of Richie's chair. He glanced at his watch, nodding. "I'm even going to get back before curfew. Forty years there and back again and I'm still going to make it home for dinner and the Friday night movie of the week."

"Uh, V?" Richie said with a grimace. "Hate to burst your bubble, but you missed curfew by about twenty-three hours. It's Saturday."

Virgil stared at Richie with unblinking eyes. "Don't play me, Rich," he said, his tone a warning. Richie could see the tips of his fingers twitching. "I left Friday night to catch Timecode and you brought me back. I was only in the future for a couple of hours. Do _not_ tell me it's Saturday."

"Hey, fixing a time machine isn't like disabling a V-Chip," Richie said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're lucky I got it done as quickly as I did. It took Timecode ten years to perfect his version. I think less than a day to do a complete rebuild and repair is pretty good."

Virgil groaned. "Pops is gonna kill me!" he cried, burying his face in his hands. "How the hell am I going to explain this?"

"Tell him the truth?" Richie offered.

Virgil glared at Richie through his splayed fingers. "Not funny, Rich," he said, voice muffled by his palms.

Richie couldn't keep up the charade a second longer. Putting his hand over his mouth, he tried to hold back his laughter, but failed. "Bro, you should see your face!" he said, once he was able to speak without cracking up.

"Not getting the joke," Virgil said, irritated.

"You think I'd hang you like that?" Richie asked, still chuckling under his breath. "No worries, V. I called your dad before I left Dakota, telling him you were crashing at my place after we went out to catch a movie. As for today, we spent that at the Dakota Comic Convention. I programmed Backpack to simulate your voice so 'you' could check in with your dad on and off through the day. As far as Mr. H is concerned, you spent the weekend hanging with me, since my dad was 'out of town'. We'll just sleep at the gas station tonight and go eat breakfast at your place tomorrow."

Virgil shook his head rapidly, as if being pursued by a persistent gnat. "But... what...?"

"But what about the statistical impossibility of the two of us going to a comic convention and coming back empty handed? I've got it covered." Richie leaned down, digging around under the seat until his hand wrapped around a brown paper bag, filled to capacity with plastic-sheeted comics. He held it up for Virgil's inspection. "Robin said we could keep these. He has doubles."

"Richie," Virgil said slowly, staring at him with wide-eyed, open-mouthed wonder, "have I told you lately that I love you?"

"No," Richie said, grinning, "but that's probably something you should keep on the down low, if you know what I mean."

Virgil gave a relieved sort of laugh and ruffled Richie's hair with both hands before flopping back into his seat.

"You're a freak," he told him. "I love you, Rich, but you're a freak. Now, hand over those comics."

Richie passed them back as requested, watching Virgil in the reflection of the windshield as he handled the very rare, very expensive issues with all the reverence and care they deserved. "Speedster: Volume 1", in mint condition, slipped out of its plastic cover, Virgil holding the corners and being careful not to bed the covers back too far as he began reading. Richie kept watching him, somewhat amused. With his feet up underneath him and his nose buried into the comic book, Virgil looked sort of silly.

He must have felt Richie staring at him, though, because his eyes flicked up and caught his own in the reflection.

"What up?" Virgil asked.

"Just thinking," Richie said with a half-shrug. "Nothing new."

Virgil didn't look at all convinced. "About what?"

"Well," Richie said, hesitating, "I was wondering... What else did you find out about me in the future? Other than my unfortunate weight gain, of course."

"Not much," Virgil admitted, sounding regretful. "I didn't actually get to see you, just a hologram of you. Why? There something you need to tell me?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah, but it can wait."

Virgil stared at him for several moments, before nodding as well. "That's cool. I'll be around." He winked, then buried his nose back into the comic book. "By the way, Robin just got himself a slave for life. I've been dying to read some of these comics for years."

Laughing softly, Richie could only agree with that. They were fantastic comics. Turning his eyes away from Virgil, he looked longingly back down at the Batplane's control console. The autopilot light was bright and steady, but the steering column looked too tempting to pass up, now that he was more awake. Cautiously, he put both hands on the wheel, not expecting it to hurt anything or make a difference, given how hard Robin struggled with it the other day.

The second his fingers wrapped around the wheel, the autopilot light blinked off, the plane in complete manual control.

Richie grinned.

"Thanks, Batman," he said, so softly, not even Virgil heard him.

With infinite care, he piloted the two of them back to Dakota and forward into their future.

_The End  
  
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* * *

A/N: Aaaaannnndd.. we're done! Well, that was a fun way to spend three weeks. I hope you all enjoyed the story. Let me say now that I really appreciate all the reviews I've already recieved. It's so wonderful to get such great insight from you guys!

I very much enjoyed writing this. It gave me the oppertunity to really delve into Richie's character the way I wanted. Speculation is one of the greatest things we can articulate in fanfiction, imho. I thought a lot about Richie, the Justice League, Virgil, and Batman while writing this. My sister can attest to that. She doesn't even _watch_ Static Shock and she got an earful about it every time I called her. Thanks, Jenn, for being a sounding board!

This was not beta read. That's a no-no in my book, most of the time. Unfortunately, it's hard to find someone that will beta read a piece that's as long as this one ended up being. So, any typos you see here and there (and I see plenty that are really cringe worthy) are all my own. I'll probably fix them eventually. I'm just too lazy to go back and fix them now.  
A few additional notes: The thing with the hammer? Loosely reminiscent from a scene in a comic book called "The Rebels", an offshoot from "Elfquest". I thought having a comic reference would be amusing, even if it is pretty obscure. Also, the dolphin joke may or may not have come from the Simpsons. Actually, my father used to tell the same joke when I was a little kid, so who knows?

Once again, I would like to thank you for reading. It was a pretty long haul, eh? Well, we made it. Nobody is as happy to be done with this story as I am, let me tell you. Now, it's time to move onto somthing new - as soon as I finish my Angel episode for a virtual season and write something for the Livejournal "ithurtsmybrain" community challenge I signed up for. Thanks for sticking with me!


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